


It's Hard to Stay

by ArtemisRayne



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s01e09 Wheels, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I couldn't believe what she'd said, couldn't accept this new truth. My best friend, the girl I'd fallen in love with, had been lying to me for years. I turned away, because really it was just too hard to stay with her right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Hard to Stay Friends

" _I have to tell you something."_

I can't get the words out of my head as I push myself down another hallway. I'm panting from the effort of moving so quickly, and I slow down now that I'm sure she isn't following me. Not that I could have done much if she had; I had learned a long time ago that a wheelchair isn't exactly big enough to run down the people in your way, and I'm not near fast enough to get away from a person with working legs. Even if that person does wear shoes that look ridiculously heavy.

" _I've been faking it."_

I always thought that in those moments when your world turns upside-down, your mind races a million miles a minute. People are always complaining about there being too many things going through their head at once for them to focus. But mine is oddly blank right now. It's like there's nothing to focus on. Like I don't want to comprehend what's just happened. Which, really, I don't.

In a way that I haven't for years, I find myself hoping that this is all a dream and I'll wake up and things will be normal again. I haven't wished that since the accident, when I kept waking up in the hospital room feeling unbalanced and useless. No, that's a lie. I have secretly prayed every night that I will wake up and the car accident and the years that followed would be only a distant nightmare. Every time I am shunned aside for being stuck in the chair, or ignored because even the shortest person in school can see clean over my head, or given pitying looks by the pretty girls I might have been flirting with had I been able to walk up to them; each and every time someone looks at me and sees Wheelchair Kid instead of Artie Abrams, I hope that I am only imagining the whole thing.

And essentially, that's why I'm rolling my way out of the school alone.

" _You understand…don't you?"_

I don't, I don't understand at all. How can she think that I would? She's chosen her fate, created her disability as a cop out. I hadn't wanted this for myself, ever. I had never even considered in my wildest dreams that it was a possibility for my future before that crushing pain had washed me into darkness and I woke up worthless. And now that she's given up her ruse, she can be normal. Instead of The Girl With The Stutter, she will be just Tina. And until the day I die, I'm gonna be Wheelchair Kid.

The injustice of it all is getting overwhelming and I fight back tears. I normally don't let myself get into the self-loathing, because I know it just makes it harder to deal with, but today I can't help myself. I hate feeling so self-pitying, I really do. But I'm so shaken apart by what she's said that I decide to just be indulgent and ignore my common sense for today. I'll put myself back together tomorrow.

I had thought we had something to share, something really important in common. I joke about a hundred different reasons why being in a wheelchair is so hard, like the fact that my face is level with everyone's butts, (although Finn pointed out that this isn't  _always_  a bad thing), or that I can't run away from Rachel when she starts ranting in high pitches ( _always_  a bad thing), but they're only jokes. The truth is the worst part is the isolation, the fact that no one understands what it's like to be me. No one else knows what it feels like to be blown off for something out of my control, something that doesn't even affect who I am. I had thought she was the one, that person who could get some of what I was going through. I am crippled physically, and her crippled verbally, but we had each other to sympathise with and that made it easier to live with. Now that that is gone, the hopelessness of my situation crashes over me again almost as strongly as it had that first time eight years ago.

I reached over to hit the silver button on the wall and wait impatiently as the hydraulics push the doors open for me. Outside, the air is getting cold and for a moment I contemplate going back to get the jacket I left in the auditorium, but then decide it's not worth it. I might run into her. Besides, the cold breeze is kind of refreshing and the way it bites at my skin is almost masochistically comforting. The tingling pain on my bare forearms almost balances out the sharp stab in my chest.

It's still half-light outside thankfully, so I set off down the familiar route home, but it feels unfamiliar as I travel it alone. Normally she is beside me or, more often than not, walking behind me, leaning on the handles of my chair and talking to me over my shoulder. Her blue highlighted hair would tickle my collar and we would talk about everything: school, friends, glee, chores, music, movies, the future. I feel the hardness in my chest tighten when I think about the truth I'd never told her, the fact that I had always planned on her and her stutter being a part of my future. Even if nothing romantic had happened, she is – had been – my best friend and I thought that, at least, might last.

I can still remember the day I met her. It was in the seventh grade, a bit more than three years ago, when her family moved to Lima a few weeks into the school year. Most of the people who live here have lived here for their whole lives, going back generations most of the time, so it wasn't that often we got a new kid in town. A new girl who dressed in shredded black clothes and giant safety pins was even rarer.

I had seen her sitting alone in the canteen, her head bowed over her tray. The highlights in her hair had been red then, (she'd later confessed to me that she'd done it out of anger at her parents for making her move. After we'd become friends, the streaks had turned blue.) I had gone over to her table and she hadn't looked up until my foot bumped one of the chairs and the noise startled her.

" _Hey, mind if I join you? My name's Artie."_ I had noticed really quickly that she was pretty, and I'd felt uncomfortable as she'd surveyed me. There was something sad about her face, but she had given me a small smile.

" _T-t-tina."_

Something in my chest suddenly feels extremely heavy and the anger and hurt I have been feeling grows stronger. It had not occurred to me until just now, but as I think back over that meeting I realise that she has been lying to me from the very beginning. Even our introductions had been plagued by that fake stutter that she had created. The rational part of my brain is telling me that should have been obvious, because I would have noticed if she had suddenly developed a stutter, but I'm too busy being mad to give that much thought.

Sullen and resentful, I roll up the ramp to my house and go inside.

"Artie?" My dad pokes his head out of the living room and he looks surprised. "You're home early. I thought you said you were staying out with Tina tonight?"

"Change of plans," I say flatly, in the same matter-of-fact voice I have been using for years to keep people from hearing my emotions. It's a defence mechanism; I'm already vulnerable physically, I don't need people being able to hear when I'm emotionally vulnerable too.

"You should have called me to pick you up," Dad says with a frown.

I just give a dry laugh. "It's no big deal, Dad, I can always use the exercise," I say. "Don't want to start looking like a scrawny nerd boy or something." Dad chuckles and I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I realise I have managed to escape talking to him about my night for now. He'll figure it out eventually, but for tonight I will be free to stew in peace. "Anyway, I've got some homework to do so I'm gonna go work on it."

"Alright, Sport," Dad says and then disappears into the living room again. I grimace at the nickname; he has been calling me that since I was three, back when I had huge dreams of being a baseball star. Even though the name is a bitter, mocking irony of the life I've lost out on, Dad has never stopped calling me it. The only reason I don't say anything to him about it is because I know it is his way of trying to show me that the accident hasn't changed who I am. Athlete or handicapped nerd, I'm his Sport. Talk about bittersweet, right?

Pushing away the new dark thoughts, I wheel into my bedroom. I really do have homework and I twist in my chair to pull my backpack off the handlebars and toss it onto the bed. I tug off my shoes and then reach up to grab the underside of the top bunk. (After the accident they'd installed a metal bar above my bed for me to use but a few years later we figured out that a bunk bed works the same way and makes my room look less like a hospital, so I'd gladly made the change.) With a practised ease, I flex my arms and heave myself onto the mattress, and then quickly move my grip to the bar on the opposite side of the bed to drag myself the rest of the way up. Pushing myself onto my side, I grab my pant leg and pull my legs, one at a time, onto the mattress as well.

It doesn't take all that long for me to get situated, and I start pulling my books out of my backpack. Maybe I can do some homework to get my mind off the night. I'm already reaching my fill of self-indulgent angst for the month in just this night. I've never been good at staying angry for long, so now all I can feel is the hurt left over. I set my science book in my lap and open it to the chapter we've been studying in class.

Pressed between the pages is a folded piece of lined paper, creased at a funny angle from being stuffed quickly into the pages when the teacher looked my way, and I know before I open it what it is. Alternating lines of black and metallic red cover the paper, scribbled in two distinctly different handwritings as the paper had been passed back and forth between the authors.

_This is so boring, do you understand it?_

_Of course_

_Well then Mr Know-It-All you can tutor me later_

_Don't I always?_

_Oh shut up_

_Hey are you doing anything tonight?_

_No why?_

_Well I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me…_

_You mean like a date?_

I fold the paper again, not able to read any further than that. I know what comes next, can still recall the way my stomach had leapt and fluttered at the word 'date.' Feeling sick, I tuck the paper back into my textbook and close it, setting it aside. There is no way I'm getting any homework done tonight. I turn off the bedroom light and lay down, not bothering to do any more than take off my glasses. When my dad comes in a little while later to fetch me for dinner, I pretend to be asleep. I'm not in the mood to be around people right now.

For once, I'm grateful that I don't have to go to school tomorrow and see her. Normally the highlight of my day is meeting up with her at the corner a block from my house and going to school together. It is wild and illogical, but I think I'd sort of fallen in love with her at some point. She is – had been – my best friend for three years now and that has been great, and I can't pinpoint exactly when my feelings for her had changed. All I know is that now I can't think of her the same way anymore, not even as a friend. I feel too betrayed.

I resolve then to put her out of my heart. I can be civil, my parents did raise me to be a gentleman, even if no one else in the world respects that anymore. And I really don't want to make glee difficult for either of us, because I know how much we both need it. Maybe we can even be friends again someday. But this crush? That has to be forgotten first.

It takes me two and a half hours of staring into the darkness of my bedroom before I finally fall asleep. And when I do, despite all of my promises and vows, my evil brain still somehow makes me dream of her again.


	2. It's Hard to Stay Indifferent

"Artie?

The voice is sweet and timid, and it makes my heart leap frantically in my chest. I turn to the hallway where I heard it and start forward. Deep down something tells me this is a dream, because I'm walking briskly down the pale corridor, my legs carrying me in long, even strides as if they had never done anything otherwise. This isn't all that strange though, because in almost all of my dreams I can walk again. Ignoring these thoughts, I keep heading for the voice.

"Artie?" Her tone is nervous now and I pick up my pace. I am winding through what feels like an endless maze of corridors, their colours faded so the glimpses I get of my arms or feet while walking seem to stand out unnaturally bold and bright. Something in my gut is telling me not to keep following her voice, but my heart isn't listening and I just keep on going. Staying away from her just doesn't feel like the right thing to do.

I round a corner and suddenly she's right in front of me, a bold statement of black and neon. Everything around her is pale and blurred, but I can see her more clearly than I've ever before. I feel her hand on my chest and she pushes, making me stumble back into a chair that magically appeared behind me. It's familiar enough a seat for me to realise that it's my wheelchair, but that conclusion is wiped from my brain when she leans over me. All I can see are those dark eyes and a slightly mischievous smile framed by sheets of black and bright blue. I know what's going to happen a split second before her lips touch mine.

It feels like an explosion has gone off inside me, far more intense than when I'd actually experienced the same moment in reality. Something in the back of my mind is saying that I really preferred the fluttery leap that had made me pleasantly light-headed to this mind-blowing eruption, but I don't really care because now she is pressing herself closer to me. My body is reclining in slow-motion, the back of my chair somehow mysteriously vanishing as if it had never been there, and soon I'm lying prone with her hovering over me. Her lips are brushing against my jaw and neck and lips in cycles, little ghostly touches that thrill me and give me a weird sensation in that lowest part of my stomach that I can still feel in, but at the same time something about the kisses feels oddly empty and leaves me longing.

Her leg slides against mine and my eyes widen because I can  _feel_  it. As she lays her body across mine, I can feel the pressure of her legs against mine and the weight of her hips resting on mine. Just as I notice this, her lips brush my ear and I hear her whisper my name in a way I've never heard my name said before. It is to this incredible bit of ecstasy that I, both fortunately and unfortunately, wake up.

I'm panting and as I come back to my sense I groan and rub my hands over my face. The palms of my gloves are coarse on my skin, reminding me I'd forgotten to change. As does the way my belt buckle is digging into my stomach and the tightness around my neck from my shirt collar as I gasp for breath. I hurriedly undo the top button before I hyperventilate because I'm already feeling dizzy.

I shouldn't be feeling like this and I know it. Not after last night. The memories, combined with the bittersweet beauty of my dream, nearly bring tears to my eyes but I shake it away. I really need to put this whole mess behind me.

Pushing my glasses on, I lean over the edge of the bed and pull a fresh set of clothes from the dresser. When I've changed into clothes that aren't wrinkled beyond recognition, I carefully lower myself into my chair and wheel myself into the dining room. Mum is sitting at the table and drinking a cup of coffee, and when I come in she looks at me over the book she's reading and smiles.

"Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty," she teases.

Confused, I glance up at the clock. "It's only ten-thirty," I point out. "Not afternoon yet."

Mum laughs. "Yeah, and I think it's the latest you've slept in years," she says. I can't really argue that, she has a point there; I'm generally an early riser. "I was going to say you must have had a good time last night, but your dad said you got in early." She gives me that knowing look that tells me I'm not getting out of talking about yesterday. "Did something happen, honey?"

"We just ended it early," I say as casually as I can. "It's nothing."

Mum doesn't look convinced. Not that I'd expected her to be, but I was hoping. "Are you sure?"

I put on the brightest smile I can muster. "Positive," I say. Then quickly changing the subject, I ask, "Is there any coffee left?"

Mum sighs but nods. I cross to the kitchen, rolling up to the counter where the coffee pot is resting. There's a line of coffee cups sitting beside the pot and I carefully pour myself one, grateful that Mum has stopped hovering over my shoulder every time I do something in the kitchen. Spill one mug of coffee on yourself and get a personal kitchen bodyguard for a solid year afterwards. She hadn't been all that amused when I'd pointed out that I hadn't even felt the burns on my legs either, no matter how true it was. Even though she no longer followed me into the kitchen, I can still feel her eyes on my back through the doorframe (we don't have many doors in the house, except for bed and bath rooms; Dad took them all out after the accident so it was easier for me to move around.)

The phone rings and I hear Mum getting up to answer it while I empty sugar packets into the coffee cup. I just barely take my first sip when Mum appears in the kitchen doorway, holding the mouthpiece of the phone against her chest and looking anxious.

"It's for you," she explains.

"Who is it?" I ask but there is a drop of dread forming in my stomach already. _Please_ , please don't let it be her…

"I think it's Tina," Mum says and I have to bite my lower lip to stop myself from groaning.

"I'd really prefer not to talk to her right now," I say curtly and return my focus to my coffee. I don't even get it to my mouth before Mum speaks again.

"She sounds really upset," she says and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she's trying to guilt-trip me; either into talking to Tina or at least telling her why I don't  _want_  to talk to Tina. I just shrug. "Arthur Benjamin Abrams," she says sternly.

I roll my eyes but set my coffee back on the counter and swivel to face her. Cripple or not, you don't argue with Mum when she used the full name. "Fine, give me the phone," I say and hold out my hand. Mum looks pleased even over her worry as she places the phone in my hand. I give her a pointed look and she catches the hint to leave, before I finally put the receiver to my ear. "Hello," I say dully.

_"A-Artie?"_

Instantly a flash of last night's anger blossoms in my chest. What does she think she's playing at, pulling that stupid stutter again after what she told me? Does she think I've forgotten? Is she mocking me? I'm half-tempted to just hang up before I hear another noise, a weird sort of snuffling. And my stomach grows cold as I suddenly understand; this isn't her stuttering as part of her ruse. She's crying.

"Tee, are you okay?" I ask, immediately worried. My brain is yelling at me, reminding me that I promised not to be bothered with her and that I shouldn't care anymore, but like I said before: I'm no good at staying mad.

" _I'm so s-s-sorry_." For some reason, all of a sudden I feel like I'm the bad guy. How did that happen? I know I'm the reason she's crying, but she lied to me for three years. Don't I deserve to be angry at her? Yes, I do. But it doesn't make me feel any better.

"So am I," I say quietly and I hear her breathing hitch. It's selfish of me, but I'm really glad we're having this conversation over the phone because I'm not sure I could stand my ground, metaphorically or course, while watching her cry. I have seen her cry once before, and I still remember the irrational thought that I would have jumped over the moon to make her stop and smile again.

"Look, Tee, I can't just pretend that last night didn't suck," I say before I lose the courage. "Well at least that very end part. And I'm still pretty hurt." Tina makes a pretty loud shuddery noise at this and I have to swallow to keep my throat from closing up. "I – I don't understand why you did it, but it's done. I'm not sure I can trust you at the moment, but I'm – I've had some time to think about it and I don't really want to toss out our friendship. But that's all we are. Just friends. I don't want to think about crossing that line again right now."

There is a long silence, broken only by Tina's choppy breathing, and then finally she says, " _Th-thank you_."

I feel awkward as I listen to her steadily slowing breathing on the other end of the line. Nothing is back to normal, and I'm not sure it will ever get back there again, but we've made the decision to try. Maybe this way I can just forget that last night ever happened and we can go back to being the best friends we were before. That might be okay to live with.

"So, um, did you still want some help with that maths review this weekend?" I ask. I'm not sure why, because I really ought to take the time for myself to deal and move on, but something about her sitting alone in that house crying makes me say it. Her parents go out of town a lot, and I know they'll be gone this whole weekend because we were talking about it at lunch yesterday.

I can almost hear Tina smile through the phone. " _Yeah, that'd be nice_ ," she says and for the first time today I hear her voice without a stutter. It sends a weird swirl of pleasure and pain through my chest that I don't even want to try and decipher.

"Noon sound good?"

" _Great_ ," Tina says with only the faintest trace of a sniffle. " _I'll see you then, Artie_." She hangs up and I do too, setting the phone in my lap and staring at it. It's weird, how much my anger from yesterday has cooled in twelve hours. Last night I had gone to bed thinking that it would be a miracle if we could salvage our friendship at all someday in the future. Now she's coming over in an hour to do homework together just like we had two days ago. It will be awkward, undoubtedly, but maybe this could be our indicator of how things will work between us now.

Grabbing my coffee mug, I wedge it securely between my thighs and then wheel slowly back into the dining room. I set the phone on the table and then take a large sip of my coffee, which is actually kind of cold now but I don't want to make the effort of going back into the kitchen and warming it up.

"Work things out?" Mum asks curiously from behind the cover of her book.

"It's a start," I answer without elaboration before I dedicate my attention solely to my coffee. I'm relieved when Mum doesn't push it any further than that.


	3. It's Hard to Stay Mad

I'm in my chair by the desk, strumming idly at my unplugged guitar and trying to learn the new chords I need for glee, when I hear the soft knock on the door. I had heard Mum let her in the front door when she'd shown up, as well as heard her familiar footsteps coming down the hall, albeit more slowly than usual, so I wasn't surprised at the gentle tap. Except for the fact that she had bothered to knock at all, when she normally just barged in. It's actually almost a relief to know I'm not the only one feeling the effects of last night.

"Come in, Tee," I say and turn to set my guitar back in its stand. When I look up at her it is really hard to not let my shock show on my face, and I may have failed a little because her expression suddenly gets more awkward. Her eyes are still red, the edges puffy even under her make-up, and there are swooping shadows under her eyes. It looks like she hasn't slept in a week and spent that whole time crying. This does nothing for that random knot of guilt in my stomach either. Honestly, why do I feel so bad? She had lied to me, not the other way around.

For a while we just stare at each other, or rather we both spend a good deal of time staring at our feet and shooting the occasional glance at each other. I clear my throat, and feel bad when Tina flinches like she expects me to shout at her. "Should we get started?" I ask. "This stuff could take all day."

Tina nods silently and takes a step toward the bed before pausing hesitantly. I guess what she's thinking, and I cross to the bed, heave myself onto the mattress, and then pat the spot beside me. She visibly relaxes and comes to sit by me, although there's about an extra foot or so of space between us than usual. I don't mind, it makes it easier to concentrate. Dutifully, we pull out our books and set to work.

We are only studying for about a half hour before my brain starts feeling like someone's salsa dancing on the inside of my skull, and I can tell Tina is hanging on by her last thread. "Why don't we take a break?" I offer and Tina lets out a sigh of relief, slumping back against the wall.

"Th-thanks," she says and then her eyes widen in alarm, both hands flying up to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry," she breaths. "It's habit."

I shrug, trying to pretend the reminder of her secret doesn't bother me. The silence between us gets  _really_  awkward now. "You know, I never really noticed your stutter," I say before I even consider what I'm saying. Tina looks over at me in surprise, and I'm about as surprised as her although I hide it a lot better, but I don't take it back because it's true. "I haven't for a long time."

Tina looks down at her lap and by the way she's breathing I'm afraid she might start crying again. "I never thought I was going to become friends with you." This sudden proclamation startles me as much as my random comment must have done to her. I watch her plucking at a loose string in her fishnet gloves but she doesn't look up at me. "I faked the stutter because I didn't want people to get close to me, because people that you get close to can hurt you." When she falters this time I know why; her family has issues and she's been let down by her parents a dozen times too many. And that's just in the last year. "I thought that you would hear my stutter and go away like everyone else did. But you didn't."

She clears her throat. "I didn't want to, but I started really liking you, and the longer you stuck around the more I realised I didn't want to chase you away. And by that point, I was already afraid that if I told you my stutter was fake then you'd stop being my friend. I tried to pretend the speech therapy was helping, and gradually work out of the stutter that way, but it turned out you were the only person I was comfortable talking in front of." I can remember in eighth grade how her stutter had disappeared for weeks and then somehow come back; how had I not figured it out then? At the time it just hadn't seemed important.

"Then my parents gave up on me and the therapy excuse was out of the question, and I didn't know how to get out of it anymore." She still has her head bowed, her face hidden behind her hair, but she lifts a hand and I know she's wiping at her eyes. "I really, really wish there had been some better way to tell you."

"Before you kissed me might have been nice," I chime in and then instantly groan, biting my lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"No, you – you're right," Tina says and finally looks up. When I see her watery eyes I almost wish she had kept staring at her hands. "I just, when I kissed you I realised how much I care about you and I couldn't keep lying. You deserve better than that."

I shift uncomfortably, taking off my gloves because I can feel my palms getting sweaty. I have no idea how we'd all of a sudden wound up talking about this stuff, ( _what had happened to just doing maths homework_?) but I reason that, as much as I don't want to deal with this now, we will never get back to normal unless we clear the air. I take a deep, steadying breath.

"I was jealous," I say, forcing my voice back into my naturally unemotional tone. I don't want to get choked up. Tina's eyes widen in shock, which only makes me feel worse. I thought it had been obvious that was why I'd been upset, but if she somehow hadn't known that then it meant she'd probably been up all night stressing and trying to figure out why I'd lashed out at her. Meaning I'd pretty much reinforced her fears that if she told people the truth they'd desert her.  _Good show, Artie._  "I mean, you can go back to some sort of normal now, but there isn't and never will be any going back for me."

Tina looks really sad again and I shake my head. "But I've been thinking about it and I realised that I shouldn't be jealous of you," I continue before she can say anything. "You're my best friend and I should be happy when good things happen to you. I was jealous and I was being selfish, because I was afraid – I was afraid that now you're normal, you won't want to be friends with the Wheelchair Kid anymore." I only just realise the words are true when they come out of me. It's like my feelings from last night aren't making any sense, even to me, until I just talk and let them slip out. And even as embarrassed as I am to admit that truth, I know it's not an ungrounded fear; it wouldn't be the first time one of my friends decided they were too good to hang with the cripple.

"Artie…"

I shrug. "Look, let's just agree that we both screwed up," I say, "but we're best friends, and we'll always be best friends, and let's try not to mess that up again." I hold out my hand. Tina eyes it for a moment, looking hesitant, and then she slips her hand into mine and smiles. It is nice to finally see that familiar smile, the one that makes her eyes crinkle up and is so bright it's almost difficult to look at from so close. I try to ignore the way my stomach jumps at the feel of her hand in mine.

Our hands stay connected for just a bit too long and then I hurriedly release hers and put mine back in my lap. "You know, I'm not really in the mood for trig, and I know you're  _never_  in the mood for it, so what do you say we give this up as a lost cause for today?"

"Artie, you're the best," Tina says gratefully and tosses her maths books off to the side. "Movie?"

I smile. "You know where they're at," I say and gesture vaguely at the television stand on the other side of the room. Tina practically leaps off the bed on her way over to the DVD collection, choosing one and slipping it into the player. We have spent enough of our free afternoons watching movies in my room for her to know how everything works. "What are we watching?" I ask when she crawls back onto the bed.

Tina just smiles and hands me the remote. "You'll see." I roll my eyes and huff in pretend annoyance, but she doesn't fall for it anymore than she ever has. I know her though, so I'm not surprised when the title of one of my cheesy old black-and-white sci-fi movies appears on the screen. She is about the only person I know who can enjoy and respect a classic as much as I do. She seems to be looking at me for approval, so I smile as I hit the play button.

It is almost unreal how much more natural everything feels now. There is still an edge of awkwardness floating between us, but we both recline back into the pillows and whisper comments about the movie back and forth, sometimes praise for good old-fashioned special effects and sometimes sarcastic remarks on the movie's poorer qualities (usually the unimpressive acting, which crops up a lot in old movies.) The only real difference is the way we are careful to keep space between ourselves. Normally it was no problem when our arms brushed each other, and she'd gotten into the habit of using my shins as a foot rest sometimes, but this time there is a good six inches between us at all times.

"You know, I always wondered why when people hear that ominous, 'there must be a mutant, man-eating monster behind the door' noise, they always run towards it," I mutter to Tina. The only response I get is a quiet 'hmmhm.' I look over and see she's asleep, and as I watch her head drifts gradually down to rest on my shoulder. My stomach twists and for a moment I consider waking her, but then I remember that she hadn't slept much, if at all, last night, and that it was mostly my fault. She deserves a bit of a cat nap. Maybe when she wakes up she'll be conscious enough for us to actually get some studying done.

Settling myself in, I slip an arm around her shoulders so we're both more comfortable, and focus on the movie. Which is kind of hard when Tina rolls onto her side and curls into me, one hand fisting in the fabric of my sweater vest like she's clinging onto me. I notice that one of her legs is draped over mine, but since I can't feel it that doesn't bother me quite as much. No, it's really the fact that I can feel her face burrowing into my shoulder and the lightest trace of her breath over my collar that's distracting me, especially the way it's making my stomach do that same incredible leaping thing it did when I realised she was going to kiss me last night.

So maybe those romantic feelings for her haven't gone  _completely_  away…

Tina shifts her head and a strand of blue hair drifts down across her face. I see her nose wrinkle at the contact and I quickly tuck the hair behind her ear again before it wakes her. I let my fingers linger on her cheek for an extra fraction of a second, and then lower them.

After last night I know I shouldn't be here, letting her sleep curled up against my side so it's making me dizzy with the contact. I shouldn't still be this crazy about her. We should be apart, taking time to take care of ourselves instead of just throwing ourselves back into this madness. I shouldn't be so willing to let her stay where she's at as if nothing happened. But then she lets out a dreamy, contented sigh, smiling in her sleep and tightening her grip on my shirt like she'll never let go, and I realise that maybe I don't want those romantic feelings to go away. Tuck them back into the corner again until we get everything sorted out? Definitely yes. But go away completely?

I wrap my arm more securely around her, and then settle back to watch the movie, smiling. Because honestly, it's really, really hard for me to stay mad at her.


End file.
